Walking the Fine Line
by elektra30
Summary: It starts with a very harmless question. Most things do, until they dovetail into trouble.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

**A/N:** Written in response to the artwork 'At A Glance' by Gotle for the Hawthorn & Vine Reverse Challenge 2014. Please google Gotle's work to see the amazing inspirational piece!

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**PROLOGUE**

Amidst the laughter in the hallways, there's a thin web of uncertainty and distrust that hangs all over the castle.

She wants to believe that it's really just Peeves who's secretly threading a tapestry of terror for the sick fun of it, but each pulse of Harry's scar reminds them that there is a gulf between sly deceit and twisted evil.

Even when she has her arms linked with Harry's and Ron's, when their giggles chime in with the merry atmosphere, it's hard to shake off the uneasiness.

The unpleasant feeling intensifies as they walk down the hallway, red-rimmed cloaks brushing by green-rimmed ones, and the familiar silver-blond mop that makes bile rise in her throat appears. She braces herself for the spiteful words to come her way, the ones that are tinged with a horrible naiveté that she doesn't quite know how to fault because discrimination is in his blood.

Nothing.

Ron puts on his best belligerent expression, ready to face any challenge head-on, but she tugs at him. Instead, she's the one who turns her head. She can't muster the same look as Ron, but she doesn't have to think any further.

All she can do is look surprised, because when his grey eyes meet hers, it feels like everything around her has been sucked into –

A vacuum.

Ron immediately hurries her along with his arm protectively around her back.

"Come on, Hermione," urges Harry. "Don't let him suspect anything."

She hasn't believed Harry before, his rants that Malfoy has become a Death Eater and is about to unleash terror from within the stronghold of Hogwarts. Now she can't help but wonder if it's true after all.


	2. Are You Alright?

**ARE YOU ALRIGHT?**

"Are you alright?"

It starts with a very harmless question. Most things do, until they dovetail into trouble. She only realises it after she's asked it a second time.

His eyebrows furrow, then he looks up from his book. But he doesn't meet her gaze; instead, he tilts his head to the left. And right. Then back at her.

"You're talking to me?"

"No, I was talking to the little fat gnomes harvesting the wheat growing from your head," she retorts, her cheeks burning from the realisation that she should have just kept her mouth shut.

"In the library – what a travesty!" He smirks and returns to his book.

She glares at him. "I only asked because your hands have been trembling. It's a symptom of Parkinson's, you know."

He looks up at her, genuinely bewildered. "You can tell if I have shagged Parkinson by whether my hands are trembling?" Then back at his hands. "Fascinating virile, aren't I? Bloody good."

She gapes, then cringes, fervently wishing that he had chosen to sit somewhere far away from her favorite sitting spot near the window. "Oh my God. You are _sickening_."

"In any case, it's none of your business," he replies calmly. Then adds, "_Mudblood_."

_Naive. Naive. Naive. _This makes her itch to ask him what he was doing at Borgin and Burkes, but no, she can't. She can't just screw it up like that.

"It's like a little tick in your mouth sometimes," she murmurs. "A decayed tooth, perhaps."

"That's exactly what Mudbloods are to the wizarding race."

She can't swallow that down. She can't. "What's wrong with you?!"

He ignores her.

"For once, just _for once_, I think maybe I can try to be the better person here – even after you completely smashed my friend's nose with the sole of your crabby boot and ran away like a coward!"

"I'm not a coward." The reply is instantaneous – quiet, but firm. He puts down his book. "And I thought I was beginning to enjoy this conversation, Granger. Thought I'd have a breath of fresh air after the two nitwits Crabbe and Goyle. Turns out you're not any better. Is that the best you can manage?"

"And you're a disgusting friend," she snaps back.

"And so are _you_," he murmurs, tilting his head as he stares at her. "You don't even trust your friends."

"_Excuse me?_"

"Shhhh!" Madam Pince's shrill hiss doesn't dissipate immediately and it makes her ears ring.

"You're constantly suspicious of your ginger pauper having a roving eye, and yet you dismiss Potter's suspicion of me even though as you have rightly pointed out, I have pretty much inverted his facial bone structure if not for the power of magic. So, it's all very well and good in your friendships, isn't it?" His smirk cuts deep into her skin.

She shuts her book this time and stands up. "At least we have each other's backs. If Crabbe and Goyle were in trouble, would you stay and rescue them?"

Before he speaks, she barrels on, "Or better still, if you were in trouble, could you count on them to save you?"

He grips the chair's armrest and for a moment, a strange expression flits across his face.

"I thought so," she mutters, as she makes to leave.

"I won't die."

"What?"

"The answer to your question, Granger," he says through gritted teeth. "Now get out of my sight."

"My pleasure. You make my eyes burn," she retorts, and she does leave. But not before she catches a very faint murmur:

"_Or so I hope._"


	3. Where Are You Going?

**WHERE ARE YOU GOING?**

"Where are you going!"

He stops at the foot of the staircase that winds its way up to the rooftop of the Astronomy Tower. "That's not a question, so I'm not going to answer."

"You're not doing patrol here tonight; you don't have a reason to be up and about at this hour," she says in a clipped tone.

He turns around and spreads out his hands. "You can search me if you like." Then he smirks. "A guaranteed turn-on for the rest of your night."

She can feel the heat bloom in her cheeks. "You disgusting creep! Ten points off –"

"Ten? _Ten?_ Good grief, Granger," he snorts, "you haven't any idea what to do with power, have you?"

"At least I know not to brand people with a burnt, brainless snake on their skin."

His eyes flash. "So you believe it, after all."

"I told you, you're the one who doesn't trust your friends."

"And yet you still stand here, asking me to go to bed when I'm sixteen, armed with a wand, and, as you say, a Dark Mark."

"Well, the only thing that I don't have in comparison is the Dark Mark and I don't think that contributes any value to a wand fight." She brandishes her wand. "And I have the ability to parade you around like a six-year-old if you don't get back to your common room."

"I'm a prefect too, Granger," he says lazily. "I can do as I please."

"No. Not in these corners of the castle, and you know it."

"Well then." He folds his arms. "What if I said I need quiet time and the only place I can find peace is this place?" He looks up at the staircase.

There's a pregnant silence, before she murmurs, "Quiet time?"

"Oh yes, even Death Eaters need quiet time. Murders do need planning, after all."

Her breath catches in her throat. "Malfoy, you foul –"

"If you're so afraid of me having bad thoughts, why don't you accompany me?" He breaks into a most unsettling grin. "You could talk about your day to distract me; talk about all your little pity parties of being the third wheel in everything that you do – be it Potter and Weasley's friendship, or Weasley and Lavender Brown's relationship..."

"He's not with Lavender!"

She could have slapped herself in that instance. _Why was that even the first thing she had to say given that he had just talked about contemplating murder?!_

"That would be a lovely nighttime debate to have on top of the Astronomy Tower." He carefully arranges a more serious expression.

"You're impossible!" She strides towards him, and for a triumphant moment, she sees him flinch as she heads towards him with an outstretched wand. She's slightly surprised that he doesn't reach for his own wand – but he doesn't need to anyway, since she marches past him and heads up the stairs.

"Granger," he says levelly, "what are you doing?"

"I'm taking you up on your offer. I need fresh air to wash away all the toxins you've just introduced to me!"

"You can't be serious!" There's genuine panic in his voice now as he catches up to her.

"Regretting it now, Malfoy? Never tempt me with the possibility of getting quiet time when I'm all inundated with the incessant, mindless chatter of –"

She's greeted with a chilly gust of wind in her face.

"You have your quiet time _here?!_"

"Relax, Granger." His sudden heated breath next to her ear sends a sharp shiver through her. "Be patient."

"It's frrrreezing!"

He waves his wand before her, and instantly, she feels warmth cascade down her body.

_Of course._ Her cheeks burn as she trails after him. He stands by the edge, head tilted up and eyes closed, mildly outlined by the dim lights of the castle against the black sky.

For a moment, she almost thinks _how reverent_, then decides immediately that she had never _ever _tried to use that adjective in conjunction with Draco Malfoy.

"Are you thinking of whom to kill next?" she asks thickly.

His eyes snap open. "Granger," he says slowly, "you're a bloody mystery and a complete fool. You choose to come up here with me, a purported Death Eater, and completely forget how to use your wand. And then you ask me who I'm about to kill next."

He turns around with narrowed eyes. "Or are you in the habit of asking rhetorical questions today?"

The warmth charm from his wand doesn't stop her from shivering. "That would be too easy for you, to kill me here."

He doesn't respond; he merely turns back to face the night scenery.

She walks forward to stand next to him – shuts her eyes, tilts her head back and takes a deep breath. Thoughts flit through her mind incessantly, but with each breath of fresh air, they blur.

The next time she passes by the foot of the Astronomy Tower stairs, she can't help but be drawn to climb them. He's there once again, facing the night sky, letting his thoughts be blown away by the wind.

She remembers her wand this time, but for a good half an hour thereon, that's all she needs to remember.


	4. You Don't Even Belong Here, Do You?

**YOU DON'T EVEN BELONG HERE, DO YOU?**

"You don't even belong here, do you?"

He doesn't bother to cross his legs as she walks directly towards his spread-eagled form on the table.

"Do they give extra points when you use rhetorical questions in the exams? It seems that you have mastered this completely useless form of art."

She rolls her eyes. "Thank you for your compliments; I do believe it's the first time you've paid me one. Why are you even wasting your time here?"

He sits up straight, amused. "So you do find this course of study a waste of time. Fascinating! Why do you attend it then?"

She's mildly startled by his sudden interest. "History of Magic gets us to understand the true depth of magic that we wield by understanding how it all came about**. **But without knowing the ancient runic scripts, to what extent can we deepen that understanding of the past?"

"I don't know," he muses, snatching a piece of parchment sticking out from her stack of books. She makes to grab it back, but he leans back and holds it high above his head. "Maybe that's why it's ancient."

"Give that back to me, Malfoy," she seethes, making a futile grab for her paper. "Nobody would reckon you were sixteen years old by the childish games you play!"

His lips curl slightly. "Oh? I can always kick it up a few notches."

"You can get out of here instead. Professor Babbling doesn't take kindly to gatecrashers."

"Oh? Not even if they are keen to pursue knowledge so aggressively, like Miss Hermione Granger here?" He pouts uncharacteristically, leaning his head on cupped hands, then raises his hand suddenly. "Me! Me! Look at me! Wait," he looks back at her mockingly, "did you say childish?"

_Cool it. Cooooool it._

"I did," she says, giving her best nonchalant look. "I mean, look at yourself. Don't you have a class to go to?"

"You do mean, look at _yourself_," he says with a chuckle. "You're _fifteen_ minutes early, Granger, for your first class of the day. Who even goes to class a minute early?"

This makes her realise something. "This can't be right. You came here even earlier – what on earth do you want from me?!"

His facial features suddenly grow taut and sharp. He sits up a little straighter, then pulls out a piece of crumpled parchment from his pocket and smoothens it out.

"Read it."

His voice is a dreadful attempt at being icy-cold and intimidating. One of the reasons why she didn't believe Harry from the very start when he accused Malfoy of being a Death Eater was simply that she didn't think he had it in him. He was spiteful, cruel and at times, downright despicable, but it was like with Peeves: that fine line between being a mean teenager and being a ruthless murderer.

At the same time, alarm bells start to ring in her head. Why would Draco Malfoy ask her to read ancient runes out of the blue? Did it give any clue about the Dark side? Is it a message from Voldemort? Even if he isn't the one to carry out the final deed of murder, surely he's capable of being the runner.

"It's not a death oath or an initiation ritual, Granger," he says, rolling his eyes. "Stop bloody overanalysing and tell me what it says!"

"Well, I'll have to analyse in order to read, right?"

He glares at her.

She smoothens out the paper and frowns. "This is a page out of our Ancient Runes reference book. What are you so interested about?"

"It is?" He arches an eyebrow. "Well, just read it, Granger. I want to know if you're hoodwinking me. Your lies fall apart within seconds."

Affronted, she reads the paragraphs. They are simple historical texts of how the four houses of Hogwarts came to be, and she reads them out loud and clear, determined to prove to him that he's being an idiot and she can't be undermined in any way.

She can't deny being disappointed, however, but – well, of course – why would he ever let her read something that would be meant only for his eyes?

He doesn't say a word of thanks nor does he make fun of her any further; he just tucks the parchment back into his pocket and saunters off, leaving her puzzled and disgruntled in his wake.


	5. Did You Use Me?

**DID YOU USE ME?**

"Did you _use_ me?!"

He spins around, eyes darting all about the rather-empty corridor. Then someone else rounds the corner and he reaches out to grab her cloak sleeve.

"What the – _Malfoy_!" She struggles against him, even hitting out at his chest.

"Shut _up!_" he hisses, as he drags her into a narrow corner, hidden in shadows. The student walks by, unnoticing.

"Don't you _dare_ confront me in the open like that," he spits, almost in her face. "We are barely even acquaintances!"

Those words hit her somewhat, even though she has no idea in what way, or why. This is Draco Malfoy after all. She struggles to move away from him. "Let me go!"

He does, then steps back. Finally, she can breathe.

"I asked you, did you use my runic knowledge to curse Katie Bell? _Did you_?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he says, brushing off his coat sleeves.

This time, she's the one who corners him against the wall with an accusing finger. "That curse was an _ancient_ one, which means it's spelt out in runes! Hidden in those ridiculous historical paragraphs must have been a curse! How _dare_ you try to –"

"I have nothing to do with Katie Bell," he says coldly. "Also, you think too highly of yourself that I would come to _consult_ you." He pauses. "Then again, doesn't it claw at you? That you might possibly have had a hand in someone's agony?" When her eyes widen, he laughs softly. "That's why you're so riled up, Granger. It's not because you're upset on Bell's behalf; it's because you're affronted, you're implicated and you're no longer the good little witch of Hogwarts. A pity, isn't it? Well, I don't think people will think very much of what you did because you were simply doing what you're so good at doing." He leans closer to her, his smirk deepening. "_Showing off_."

Tears spring to her eyes as she struggles to form her next words. "You _despicable_… How could I have _ever_ –"

"I'm surprised Potter and Weasley even let you come confront me without them being your burly guards," he scoffs, pushing aside her finger lazily.

Then he stops short as he stares at her. "Wait. You didn't tell them?"

She turns away abruptly, trying to swallow back her tears, but fails miserably.

"You didn't want them to think you were implicated, did you?"

His voice doesn't have the same tinge of malice as before, but it still hurts. She swings back to glare at him through tear-filled eyes. "Or maybe I just thought you were being civil. _For once_. Yet again!" She laughs coldly. "I should stop assuming. There are no once-offs with a cold-blooded arsehole like you!"

"And you just said you should stop assuming." He barks out a harsh laugh. "Go run to your little friends, M–" He pauses; his gaze drops to her clenched fists.

"Go on. Say it."

"You know, if I said..."

"Said _what_?" she grits out, trembling.

"If I said that I didn't do it, would you believe me?"

She chokes out a bitter laugh. "I don't know what to believe anymore about you, Draco Malfoy. I just know that you're sinking deeper and deeper, and even if you try to climb out one day, _nobody's_ going to be there for you."

His eyes flash. "There will be someone."

"That's just you being naive!"

"Oh yeah?" He grabs her arm and pulls her towards him, charging currents of fear through her. "You are telling me that I'm being naive, when you're the one who has been approaching me every night on that Tower, talking to me like I'm a real person who feels, when you know that there are darker forces lurking around. But all you do is care about all these trivial little things like oh, who the Weaselboy is snogging, and why Potter and the little spitfire Weasley aren't together, and bloody rights for the kitchen elves, who by the way make your dinner, so why the bloody hell can't you shut up sometimes?!"

He says the last bit so vehemently that specks of saliva fly onto her face. She tries to shake it off but his grip on her arms is so tight.

"Let me go, you brute!"

He does, but not without putting one hand on his pocket.

"And don't you_ dare_!"

She doesn't reach for her own wand. She leaves instead.

He doesn't follow her.


	6. Why Weren't You There?

**WHY WEREN'T YOU THERE?**

"Why weren't you there?"

He stops walking in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. There's no one around except the two of them, so she thinks he probably won't need to grab her and drag her to some shady place again.

"How did you know I was here?"

She ignores him. "Answer my question."

"In what context are you asking that question?" he drawls slowly, but his back is still facing her.

"The Tower," she says, "last night."

"I had a clear head last night after you've enlightened me about the extent of naivety a person can have, Granger. Didn't need a breeze to do the job. Now, why are you stalking me?"

"I ask the questions here," she snaps, "and to change the context, why weren't you at the first Quidditch match of the season?"

"Did Potter send you to interrogate me? Because if he did, I don't know how he thought he had the right person in mind."

"Of course he didn't," she retorts. "Why would he send someone who tried to dissuade him that you weren't the one who cursed Katie Bell?"

Slowly, he turns around to look at her. The weariness in his face that startles her, but his features quickly rearrange into suspicion.

"Although when I pointed out that your plan to bring the necklace into the castle failed, Harry said you weren't one of the world's greatest thinkers, and I have to agree."

"You still think I did it." He tilts his head to the side. "But yet you still told Potter that I didn't."

She merely glares at him.

"And you've not told him that you see me every night up at the Astronomy Tower." It seems to dawn upon him that she _clearly_ isn't trying to play espionage for Harry.

Harry was definitely right about him not being a great thinker. "You haven't answered my question. About the Quidditch game."

"One of the hallmarks of a great player is that he knows how to groom succession that have great competency. And of course, not overshadowing himself."

"It was the _first_ match, Malfoy. You can't fool that many people."

"But I did fool you. And many others – even Pansy who usually has a very sharp eye for details about me. You're asking me now not because you were suspicious of me _then_, you're asking me because you're suspicious _now_." He steps forward. "What I don't understand is why you are sleuthing alone. Don't you need to report your little puppy actions to Potter? Doesn't his sensitive little teenage ego break into a million pieces when his best friends are feuding with each other, let alone doing things _behind his back_?"

It takes a while before she can utter her next words, but he's surprisingly patient and waits for what she has to say, even if his patience is marked by a sinisterly curled lip and narrowed eyes.

"The things you said," she says quietly.

"What?"

"You said you wouldn't die – or so you hoped," she says, watching carefully as his eyebrows start to arch, "that you needed quiet time. That...that maybe – maybe if I just believed differently..." She throws up her hands. "Okay, I don't know what I'm saying. You were just throwing words around, like you always do, like they don't matter. Why am I even reading into it?"

"Granger, what the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"I can't believe you would want to be his puppet, okay?!" she hisses. "I can't believe somebody like you who has it going good for him in every aspect of his life, who thinks himself superior to every being, can bow down his head and serve Voldemort like a lapdog!"

"I could say the same for you." He sneers. "You and Weasley are practically Potter's lapdogs!"

"No, he treats us as equals," she says, "and he would do _anything _for us. I take back the part where you have everything going good for you in your life because there's _nothing_ in your life that compares to the friendship and love I have with Harry and Ron. Nothing! And working for Voldemort would do nothing to fill that gap – it will only tear it wider!"

His eyes widen just a fraction and his lips part slightly.

He walks right up to her. For a moment, he doesn't do or say anything, but stares so hard at her that her fingers are already closed around her wand. Then he murmurs, "And so... you think you can be the one to fill it?"

"What?" A hot flush overwhelms her. "No! I didn't mean that. No, I meant –"

"You think being here and pretending to have compassion for me will help? I don't need your bloody assumptions about who I am or what I do or why I do what I do, Granger," his voice rises, "and I definitely don't need your bloody sympathy!"

She draws a deep breath. "Nobody's sympathising with you, Malfoy. They're just shining the torchlight ahead at the blank wall you're running straight into. And by the time you want to turn back, there's already an avalanche of rocks blocking your way."

There's another flicker of something in his eyes that she can't quite place at that moment.

"Don't corner me, or box me up into somebody you think you know," he says, curling his tongue around each word coldly. "You know _nothing_about me."

She has to admit: she doesn't. Chills start running through her body as she takes a few steps back. She also knows nothing about the people who might be helping him in this.

"Aren't you afraid?"

"Of what?" she asks, but she can't help the trembling of her voice. _Darn it!_

He strides over before she can retreat, then reaches out to touch her arm, effectively freezing her and sending electric jolts through her at the same time. "That if I'm just that little bit more human, that little bit more of the man you're hoping I am, that you will tell Potter that I'm not Death Eater he expects me to be."

He leans closer, just by her cheek, and she shivers badly. "And then all of it is just a _lie_. How would you take it, Granger?"

He pulls back slightly to meet her gaze; she can't avoid it when she's still frozen by his touch on her arm.

There are many things that Hermione Granger knows, but this she doesn't know at all. She wants to scream at him for being a fool, to pull out her wand and cast a jinx on him, to stomp on his foot and to punch him in the face... but she can't do all of that when the way he is looking at her is making every nerve in her body tingle.

"And what happens," he whispers, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, "if I do this?"

"Malfoy," she blurts, "don't."

He pauses, then repeats, "Are you afraid?"

She closes her eyes. "Just... don't."

When she next opens them, he's gone.


	7. How Do You Do It?

**HOW DO YOU DO IT?**

"How do you do it?"

She utters these words through gritted teeth, tear-filled eyes and a flourish of a hiccup. On any other day, she wouldn't let him see her look or sound like this. But tonight, they are standing at the top of the Astronomy Tower, where the cold wind whips her cloak open to reveal her sparkling dress and she's trembling from head to toe. There's no need for a wand though, because heated rage is filling her entirely.

"Do what?" he murmurs, his back facing her as his cloak billows out against the dark. It's easily one of the most ominous motifs of villainy, along with the fact that he was obviously waiting for her to appear and yell at him.

And yell she does.

"Manage to be the unwanted, unworthy fool!" she bursts out. "Everywhere you go, you still get to hold your head high!"

He turns around, eyes flashing as he advances towards her. Even in the dim light, the haggardness is apparent, possibly accentuated by his earlier humiliation when Argus Filch dangled him in the middle of the Slug Club party as an intruder.

Then he stops. There's that infuriating smirk again. "Oh, I see what's going on here. Poor, sweet Granger, dumped by a nitwit ginger and pursued by an empty-headed beanpole. Talk about unwanted and unworthy!"

She can't stop the tears from falling and she hates herself for that. "If I were that unwanted and unworthy, then why are you even bothering to come here to meet me every night?!"

"I've always come here every night; you just decided to show up midway!" he retorts.

"But you came back. You still came back even after you told me you didn't need to clear your mind anymore."

"Well, you can leave if you want to!"

"Fine, I'll do that, and we'll see who's unwanted and unworthy!"

She turns on her heel and heads straight for the door. But it's locked. A few wand-wielding rounds later, she glares at him. "Unlock it!"

When he doesn't respond, she marches up to him. "I said, unlock it!"

"So you can go see Weasley and Brown shagging at the foot of the stairs? You might even hear them before you reach the bottom."

Her jaw drops. "They are?"

The way he is looking at her is even more unsettling. "Why do you care, Granger? In the midst of all this, why do you even bother about a ridiculous thing like this?"

She tenses up at once. "In the midst of _what_?"

Once again, he doesn't reply. But she can feel bitterness radiating from him.

"It doesn't make you someone bigger, stronger, greater," she shouts as she walks up to him. "It doesn't make you a glorious hero for trying to be a part of the bigger picture!"

He snorts. "You're the one to talk, Granger, high-and-mighty sidekick of the Golden Potter, hero of the wizarding world!" Then he turns to glare at her, his face so close that she has to take a step back. "Haven't you always wanted to be somebody too? Somebody not attached to the name of Harry Potter? Somebody whom everyone could see for her own worth, her own abilities, and not because she's one of those people who _helps_ Potter save the day?"

"Is that all you care about, Draco?" She can't help using his first name, because she wants him to realise that there are people who _do_ see him for who he is. "At this point in time, when people are _dying_, when we are being confronted with choices that affect our loved ones, is that all you care about? He doesn't care about you. He never will. All he wants is to _use_ you, he –"

"Enough!" he snarls.

"Nobody's going to remember you for being Draco Malfoy!" She barrels on. "All they will remember is that you were the one he _used_ to get –"

"For the love of Merlin, shut the bloody hell up!" He rounds on her, grabs her shoulders and shakes her viciously. "You don't know what it's like when everything's on your shoulders, when you have to step up to the plate, even though you're bloody scared and that you might die any moment, but you just have to do it because if not, your whole family could be dead!"

"Oh yeah?" she whispers. "I do know that. I do."

He stops shaking her and stares. "What?"

"Every single time you call me 'Mudblood'?" She holds her chin up. He can't see her cry again. "It reminds me that there could be a future in which that will happen to me. That if I don't do something about it, my whole family could die. My family, who barely knows anything about this world, who are humble, ordinary folk trying to run a business of keeping people's gums and teeth healthy. They could be dead because of people like you."

He lets go of her, but his fingers are stiff as they clutch his cloak.

"It's exactly because I want to remember I'm just a normal girl – Hermione Jean Granger – somebody other than a player in this bigger chess game! In fact, I wanted to remember that so much that I dressed up like a stupid doll, went to that stupid party, and completely made such a fool out of myself that I even tried to flirt with that horrid Cormac McLaggen!" She can't help the tears, even if her chin is up. "So thanks for reminding me that being myself doesn't amount to anything good!"

There's a long, frigid silence.

"You still get to hold your head high at the end of the day," he murmurs.

It's rare to see such genuine fear on his face – not the childish one he displayed when Buckbeak nearly took a bite out of him in third year, or the startled one he showed when she had smartly boxed his ear back then. No, this one throbs in his veins, widening his eyes just a little and injecting a little more pallor.

No, she thinks again, it's just the castle light playing tricks on her.

He holds out his hand.

"Dance with me?"

She stares at him in disbelief.

"That stupid party was ruined – don't you want to feel like a normal girl? And maybe for once," he pauses, then the familiar smirk turns on, "I can feel like a normal boy too."

_All of it is just a lie. What would you do, Granger?_

"Malfoy, you can't just – no!"

"There's a lot going on around us," he says, his tone somewhat awkward and frigid. "I don't want to think about any of that tonight; what people tell me; what people say about me; what I'm supposed to do. I just want to forget about it all for now."

He licks his lips, then narrows his eyes at her. "What about you?"

It does sound exactly like what she would like to do right now. But she still can't help staring at him bewilderedly.

"How do I know you're not just lying?"

He scoffs. "What does it matter anymore? Everything is a lie. It doesn't mean any differently to me."

_But it does to me._

He seems to have read her mind, because his eyebrows furrow a little deeper. "You –" He has changed his tactic, but is uncharacteristically fumbling. "You look – well, bloody hell, Granger, do you want to dance or not?"

Somehow his brashness makes him even more human, less of the haughty, collected person he makes himself out to be in the corridors.

_If Harry and Ron ever knew about this..._

She shuts the door on her moral voice, her logical mind, her strong desire to know the truth – just loses herself to the heady rush of adrenaline and takes his outstretched hand.

"Don't think about anything," he says, as he draws her closer to him. They turn in a slow circle, his breath warmly caressing her ear and his hand pressing deep into the small of her back. It's difficult for her to think when she's pressed against him like that, but then again it's difficult _not_ to think that her hand is nestled in Draco Malfoy's. She's not quite sure why she's doing this, but somehow it warms her to think that the pale, cold, spoilt Draco Malfoy could be so…so ordinary if everything had not happened.

"Where did you learn to dance, Granger?" he asks quietly, his breath brushing against her fringe.

"I – I used to take up ballet when I was younger..." she murmurs. "But I stopped when I was five. I didn't really like how they ordered us around and every girl came out like a doll in an assembly factory." This makes her think of the Slug Club party and she winces.

"Always wanting to be different." She swears he's smiling.

"No, it's that I'm not afraid to be," she replies. "But you? I can't say the same. Otherwise you wouldn't have crashed the Slug Club party."

He stiffens against her, but continues the waltz. "I told you, you know nothing about me. Don't try to act like you do."

She stays silent.

"Just forget about everything else for a while." His hand presses more firmly against her back.

And so she does.


	8. Where Are You?

**WHERE ARE YOU?**

"Where are you?" she whispers to the wind, letting it carry her words away, out of the castle.

The Order has now concurred with Harry's suspicion of Malfoy after overhearing his conversation with Snape after the Slug Club party. Following which, they've found out that Malfoy's been visiting the Room of Requirement regularly and is clearly up to no good there.

She wants to ask him, but somehow during all the past few nights she's met him here at the top of the castle – and it feels like a sanctuary from all that is going on – it seems almost...almost _wrong_ to be asking him on behalf of the Order, especially because he knows that she hasn't told Harry about all that's been going on. She would feel even more obliged to tell Harry after.

And she just can't.

_Just forget about everything else for a while._

She's been avoiding her compulsive need to blurt it all out to Harry by being more concerned about the Half-Blood Prince who wrote the book Harry has been obsessed with, but she's not sure how much longer she can hold out. After all, Malfoy is clearly getting sucked into the darker evil as the days go by. She can't just let him do that at the expense of the wizarding world.

Suddenly, the door of the tower crashes open; she jumps and spins around, only to gape in horror as Malfoy stumbles out and immediately collapses on the ground.

"Oh my God!" She runs over, hands flurrying all over him. "Are you hurt? Where are you hurt? What happened? Malfoy, answer me!"

He winces when she touches his hip, then instantly shoves her hand away. "I…don't need…your help!"

"Don't be a stubborn arsehole, Malfoy," she cries. "Tell me what happened! Was it… Did they–"

"Ask – your – beloved – Potter!" he spits, shuffling himself into a corner and pulling his cloak around him. "Some bloody spell he used!"

She balks. "_Harry_ did that to you?"

When all he does is to groan when he shifts himself, she pulls out her wand and waves it over him a few times. Slowly, his shoulders and facial muscles relax.

But not for long. He scowls deeply at her. "What the bloody hell are you still doing here? I don't want to see you!"

As usual, she brushes his question aside. "Harry doesn't attack people for no good reason. You must have provoked him!"

There's a flash of incredulity across his face, before he snorts. "Once again, the box of assumptions. I'm sure Potter will tell you the _full _story in which he saves the day, as usual. Get out of here, Granger."

He is right. Between him and Harry – who would she believe?

Does the answer matter anymore?

"In this place," she says, steeling herself, "there are no boxes."

His expression morphs into bewilderment.

"You tell me you come here to clear your mind. Not to think about anything else," she says. "If you don't want me to ask, then I won't."

"Don't do that!" he snarls. "Don't try to be patronising, Granger! Don't try to –"

He's cut off by her swooping forward to kiss him fully on the lips.

It's a heady rush – he responds almost immediately by cupping her head and pressing her closer to him. There's a desperation in his kiss that hurts her, but it's giddy all at once too. There's also a longing that makes her want to suck it out of him, if only she could. It lingers on her lips even as she pulls away and finds herself almost sitting in his lap.

Their eyes lock for barely a second; then he's the one surging forward to capture her lips.

This time, he moves against her more gently, his hand slipping to press against her back, while the other moves to her side and his thumb just grazes the underside of her breast, sending shudders through her body. Her hands rest gently on his cheek and shoulder, as his lips gently caress hers.

The dance. This kiss. The grace, gentleness and care in which he moves – there is no way she could have realised it just by walking past him along the corridors.

When they finally pull back from one another, there's a different light in his eyes. Once again, she can't place it, but the raw emotion radiating from him claws at her.

"It's the final lap, isn't it?" she murmurs, reaching out to brush his hair from his eyes. She doesn't even know where she gets the courage to do so, but it seems almost natural now.

He doesn't answer, but his hands are still gently moving against her body, sparking tingles all over.

"Is it worth it?"

"No."

She's surprised by how quickly he replies. "Then –"

"I'm not walking towards a wall," he says, almost inaudibly. "The wall is _behind_ me."

"Draco, you can't –"

"Ask me."

"What?"

A thousand questions zip through her mind. _What is in the Room of Requirement? Why do you keep visiting it? What happened with Harry? Why did you refuse Snape's offer to help? Why aren't you in the Slytherin dungeons? Why are you here...?_

"Ask me the question I always ask you."

"I don't –" She panics, clutching at his cloak. "What do you mean? Which one? I never answer any of them!"

He lets go of her and moves away to stand. He makes his way to the edge of the Tower.

"Draco, don't do anything –"

"Do you know why the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin?"

"What?"

"I'm sly. Cunning. Deceitful. I know what I want and will do anything to get it. I have a strong pride in who I am. But these attributes aren't unique to our House. Search inside yourself, Hermione Granger, and you can find them too."

He turns around to face her, his face now shockingly tear-stained. "But what puts me in Slytherin is that I don't have the courage that you Gryffindors have. I don't have the courage to stop when I need to, to tell myself I _can't actually do it_!"

She realises what he's saying. "You can stop right now, Draco! We can go and tell Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall – they will protect you! You don't have to press on anymore –"

He laughs bitterly, tears still streaming down his cheeks. "Protect? My mother tried to protect me by casting an Unbreakable Vow with Professor Snape. But in the end, _I_ am the one who has to do it. Nobody else can do it for me!"

"Then stop! You just have to _stop_ and –"

He pulls out his wand, stunning her.

"Why aren't you taking out yours?" he hisses.

"I told you, there are no boxes up here!" she cries.

"Foolish little Gryffindor!" he roars. "Don't you value your life?!"

It hits her like a sledgehammer. The question he asked her. The question he wants her to ask him.

She draws a deep breath. "Are…are you afraid?"

His wand hand shudders violently.

"Yes..." he whispers, shakily.

"Draco, be the man you need to be and make the decision," she whispers back. "There's so much more to you."

"Do you..." His voice is choked. "Do you love me?"

Her eyes widen.

He shakes his head even as he's sobbing. "How can I be so stupid? I've always been so stupid!"

"You said I'm different," she begins, "so –"

"There's no way this can continue. No way."

"What are you –"

"I'm sorry," he says, in between sobs. "I'm sorry it came to this. You'll never come up here again."

"Draco –" She realises far too late. "_No!_"

"_Obliviate._"


	9. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

"...Malfoy's going to have another clear shot at whatever he's up to..."

Harry rattles on furiously whilst she and Ron gape at him; she soon finds herself gripping the Marauder's Map and Ron's eyes widen with the Felix Felicis Harry had entrusted to him.

She's sure – as Harry is – that Malfoy is going to kill someone tonight. Or at least, whatever he's going to do will implicitly result in someone's death. For a moment, she remembers the look on his face when she glanced at him in the corridor several months back. The look that makes her think that he's nothing more than a corrupted teenager – all these past years, he's been walking that fine line between sly deceit and twisted evil. Like Peeves…

But the thought of his corruption leading to murder makes her boil, and there's nothing further to think about than to stop him.

When Harry leaves, Ron turns to her. Before he says anything, he stares at her curiously.

"What?" she asks, startled.

"Are you okay?" asks Ron, frowning. "You've been out of sorts lately. I mean," he flushes a deep red, "apart from me and Lavender, you know, just..."

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine! We should figure out how to –"

"You can't fool me," says Ron, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "That day you said you dozed off at the foot of the steps of the Astronomy Tower – I checked with Madam Pomfrey and she said you had checked in with her for some meds! You fainted! Why didn't you tell us?"

In her defence, she really has no idea why she found herself at the bottom of the Tower, awakened only because somebody was slapping her cheeks really hard. The embarrassment that came with Hannah Abbott trying to rouse her from her apparent sleep was soon accompanied by a splitting headache that had made her look for Madam Pomfrey.

"I asked her for meds because I was having a bad headache! I must have dozed off," she says, heat creeping up her neck. "Can we not talk about that? It's horribly unbecoming of a prefect! I don't know why I was so exhausted that day!"

"If you say so," says Ron, the suspicion in his voice still not diminishing. "Promise to tell me if you feel wrong or anythin', you hear me?"

"Oh stop nagging, Ronald," she mutters. "Let's go make sure Malfoy isn't doing anything dastardly."

"Oh yeah, always wanted to kill that little bugger."

"Ronald!"

"Well, sorry," mutters Ron. "I mean, if it comes down to it, would you kill him?"

"I will act according to what the situation needs," she snaps. "Now let's go!"

**FINE.**


End file.
